


like a wrench, only with more stabbing

by Rag



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 16:55:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11040348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: Dave explores LoHaC for the first time





	like a wrench, only with more stabbing

**Author's Note:**

> click to end notes for trigger warnings if you need them

Your name is Dave Strider and you’re sweating fucking buckets from the heat of lava and hot metal that saturates the air around you. You hop aimlessly from gear to gear, not sure what you’re looking for but pretty sure that some aimless exploring is the point of these starting zone areas. You’re on track, even though you’re just going around and around in circles.

The silence is deafening. Not physical silence, you guess, because LoHaC is loud as shit what with the torrents of flowing lava that hiss and splash as they flow endlessly from infinitely spawning waterfalls, grinding gears that scream as they scratch against each other. Different gears make different timbres at different intervals. The set you’re exploring now grinds out hair-raising _scree_ every 15 seconds. There’s one deep below you that sounds out every four minutes. It sounds like it might be huge enough to be the basis of the whole planet.

You’re looking over your shoulder every few seconds, and you continue to see nothing. There’s nothing, no one here, except you and the gears and the lava. That could change at any minute, you feel that in your chest or your brain or your soul or whatever controls the brain that moves you around. At any minute, something could pounce out from the shadows (what shadows? The lava glows, it leaves nothing in the dark) and get you, send you hurtling towards the molten volcanic glass and what you can only imagine is the most painful death imaginable.

You don’t know what to make of the fact that you’ve been here for a half hour, and haven’t seen another living thing. You still feel like there are eyes on you. You always feel like you’re being watched, you always have, and in your defense, you usually have been. But now it’s looking less and less like a real thing and you feel … off.

But you don’t have time to mull that over too long, because oh lookie here the gear is ending and the next one is a few feet away. You have to focus to make the jump, but you can’t think it over too hard, you can’t lock up and freeze with panic at the thought that poor timing or pacing or a sudden sprain would mean agonizing death. (if there were any real danger, a future-past Dave would probably tell you to get your shit together and think the jump over again. He doesn’t. You’re fine.)

You land it without a hitch.

You spot a door maybe a few hundred feet away, several sets of gears higher in the air, and you make your way over to it. Maybe you’re a little bit faster than you should be with your jumps, because this place is starting to freak you out. You kind of want to talk to your friends, but you don’t want to risk dropping your phone into the lava and never hearing from any of them again (they’d probably find a way to find you, but your life will be so much more pleasant if you don’t take that chance). You wonder what kind of worlds they’re in. Rose is probably in some erudite mansion, fighting off eldritch monsters before they pass their forbidden knowledge onto her. You don’t know what John’s world would be like, but it’s probably some mix of stupid and charming. Maybe lots of clouds. Jade’s probably in an even more badass tropical jungle than she usually is, and she’s probably kicking ass and taking names in it.

You really want to talk to them.

You reach the door and open it, and you see everything at once. A room with an actual floor, with tiles instead of turning gears. Tables and chairs. A chessboard mid-game. Another door on the far wall, with a rust-colored imp leaning against it. The imp locks eyes with you and immediately charges.

You are not caught off guard. You are never caught off guard. You are always ready. You close the door and draw your sword. It goes down without much of a fight. It screams and falls over and bleeds inky black blood onto the grey tile floor. The far door opens, another scream, another imp that you dispatch quickly.

You don’t think too much (at all) while you’re taking them down. You’re somewhere else, letting autopilot take over. This shit is all reflex. Just this time, your sword isn’t knocked out of your hand and turned back on you, pressed into your gut threatening to break the skin. It sinks into flesh and comes out dark with blood.

Their faces look almost like cats. You don’t want to think about them anymore. You flashstep towards the door.

You did what you had to do. It was going to kill you, or hurt you, or capture you. Its claws were out and its teeth were sharp and it moved lightning quick. And this is a game, maybe it wasn’t even real, just a test of your abilities. This almost makes you feel better, until you remember the chess game on the table. They were playing.

But they weren’t charging you for a hug. You did what you had to do. What you were trained to do. He told you the day would come, and here it is. He was right. And you’re better off for it. You are better for it.

The next room is like the last, but the color is a bit different, and this time there are creatures about. Scattered over the gears are maybe 15 imps and basilisks, no more than two to a group. They don’t notice you. Short range aggro.

You strategize and step out.

It’s remarkably easy. Overly easy. You’re steeling yourself for the dropping of the other metaphorical shoe, the boss-level ogre on the other side of the door. Instead, it’s just another room, more of the same. Incrementally harder each time, but you don’t break a sweat (metaphorically. Physically, you’ve been sweating for hours because of the motherfucking lava boiling away at nothing below you, burning just to burn like that’s its job and it’s thrilled to work)

You feel like you’re overleveled. Maybe you stepped into the 10 zone at level 30, and the game is slowly bringing you up to level 15 with every new set of gears. Too slowly for you.

The colors of the gears change from blackish red to a muted purple. You take that as a sign of progress, because god knows the monsters aren’t putting up any more of a fight, and the zones aren’t changing in much except gear placement, and if it weren’t for the colors you would definitely think you were doing something wrong and got trapped in a funhouse mirror maze. And then you open a door that has more than just another door inside of it. This room is lit with twice as much as the other ones were (which isn’t saying a ton, but it’s noticeable) and there’s a chest in the center with some wicked sick loot inside.

There’s another door past the chest, and you think you get the idea of what will be behind it. You hope that there’s something worth leveling through these for, and you’re not just risking your ass over lava and slaughtering hundreds of sentient beings for no reason. God, what the fuck are you doing? Do you ever _think_ before you act?

And just like that, the thin plastic film of calm you taped over your bad feels hurricane tears open. You want to scream and vomit at the same time. You’re covered in blood and the smell sticks to your nose. You hear the sound of their death throes. Most of them didn’t react when you killed nearby mobs, which almost makes you feel a little better, because clearly they’re asocial species, and then you remember the first set that you killed and you feel like you can’t breathe.

Maybe you were hoping, in that first room, that there wouldn’t be any violent enemies in SBURB. That way, you wouldn’t have to draw your sword, or kill anything, or watch your back. But of course there are dangerous enemies in SBURB, and it was stupid to think there might not be. Of course you have to fight. There are things, big and small, that want to hurt you. And you can’t let them, because the fate of the universe, but more importantly your friends, rests in your hands, in part.

You’re a tool. You are a trained tool for them to use. The idea helps you feel better, even though the comfort doesn’t settle all the way to your gut. But it’s better than before and it calms down the noisy swarming cloud in your head calm just enough to pick yourself up without retching. You’re a tool and you will do what you have to do to stay alive so that you can be of use to everyone else.

Your phone buzzes, which you can actually hear in the quiet isolation in the room. You realize you’ve been away from PesterChum for over an hour now. You open it up and see messages from all three of them – John, Rose, and Jade, happy day – and a few from some of the weird trolls who you can’t bring yourself to block. You take a deep breath, focus, realign, and open one.

**Author's Note:**

> tw: monster death that's reminiscent of animal death, unhealthy self-image


End file.
